Billionaire Husband Pretended To Be Poor, I Left

To help my "destitute" husband pay off his debts, I scavenged for scraps for five years. My son and I survived on expired canned food.

That changed on my son's birthday. I saw him in a bespoke suit, spending millions to celebrate the birthday of the woman he truly loved. That was the moment I realized he was actually the most powerful billionaire on Wall Street.

To please the love of his life, he let our child be injected with unknown drugs, leaving him on the brink of death. He even forced me to drain my own blood to save her son.

Later, I became someone he could no longer reach. I linked arms with a man far more powerful than him and walked away.

That once arrogant man ended up kneeling in the Arctic snow, clutching a photo I had burned, weeping like a stray dog.

On the day Caspian and I got our marriage certificate, he dropped a bombshell: as the illegitimate son of the Thorne family, he hadn't inherited a penny. Instead, he was saddled with a massive gambling debt left behind by the family.

I didn't despise him for it. For the past five years, I lived with him in a moldy basement, working three jobs to support him, while our son, Alaric, survived on discounted canned food that was nearing its expiration date.

Today was Alaric's fifth birthday.

To earn enough overtime pay to buy him a decent cake, we were braving the hundred-degree heat in New York City, stuffed inside heavy, filthy mascot costumes, handing out flyers in front of the Hilton.

However, just as I tried to adjust my helmet, my vision went black.

But as I fell backward, an extremely handsome man caught me: "Be careful."

It was Valerius Sterling.

The ruler of a media empire; I had seen him in financial magazines.

He looked at me intently, his gaze suddenly fixing on the necklace that had slipped out from under my collar—the only memento my mother had left me.

"If you want to leave, call me. I’ll help you." he said, handing me a business card.

I was a little confused. Leave? What did he mean?

But before I could ask, the hotel manager's voice interrupted me.

"Hey! You two in the ragged suits!" The manager walked over and kicked my knee in disgust. "You got lucky today. Mr. Thorne is throwing a birthday party for the young master here, and the kid loves these stupid dolls. Go in there, dance, make the little master laugh, and this hundred thousand dollars is yours."

One hundred thousand dollars?!

Alaric was thrilled; opportunities like this were rare.

That was, until I walked in and saw my "bankrupt" husband sitting in the luxurious seat of honor, wearing an expensive handmade suit.

He didn't look a thing like the shabby man who needed me to mend his torn shirts.

The guests around were gasping in awe: "Mr. Thorne is so generous! He actually gave his